Sharing a life with someone was a journey, she found. It was a series of little steps, little things, as each person explored and understood the other, and grew and changed as life changed around them, though they stayed solid and true to each other. There were rocks in that path and scrapes happened, of course, especially when delving into the difference between genders, backgrounds, and, well, mutant powers. Even so, she often sat back and marveled at how much they had gained by becoming husband and wife.
Possessions. He didn’t have much and probably never would have. Things didn’t hold an attraction for him, life did. She did. Still, what they did own and what they lived in was a part of that life, and so he would take care of it. She did not have to pick up his dirty laundry. She did not have to clean the toilet after him. As a naturally private person, he preferred to keep the scents of his life as neutral as possible to avoid detection, so he would launder and wipe down what he could. No smells were bad, only telling. She found if she kept her things as neutral as possible too, avoided perfumes and stuck to simple shampoos and soaps, he was happier.
Mistakes. They both had made them in the beginning. Funny how apologies had to be learned. “I’m sorry,” was never real if it was followed by a “but” of explanation on how the other had done wrong, too. She had been young enough to think he could read her mind as he could her moods and heartbeat. He had been jaded enough to think the worst, of both himself and others. It was always a bitter realization when she lived down to his expectations. They were still learning they had to share what they were thinking and feeling in order for their lives to merge more happily onto one path, but they had already come a long way down the road.
Silence. It was now a comfortable thing with them. There was no need to always have something to say when they were together, especially if they were outside at night. They both enjoyed the life that teemed in the darkness around them, though he could feel it on a level she could not. If there was something she needed to say, a feeling she needed to share, he would hear her heart change its rhythm and he would squeeze her hand to let her know he was listening.
Pride. She could see his chest swell at times when he looked at her and she knew, she knew he was still proud she had said yes. He was proud to be her mate. His guarded eyes would soften, shine with a love she could see though others might miss it. She would enigmatically smile then and he would nod in understanding.
Sacrifice. He had died so many times, for her, for others. He didn’t always realize this shortened her life. He didn’t think the same way she did on this. She was afraid of the pain of it, not the actual ending. He was never afraid of the pain, only that he might miss, might not be there if she needed him. He had given up hope that there was an ending at all. To him, there was a time they would be separated and he would be forever unable to reach her. To stay that end, he would gladly sacrifice himself again and again, never knowing this aged her all the more. It was sweet, but it was brutal. And it was something she could not change about him, so she had to learn to accept it.
She leaned against him as they sat in the swing and felt his warmth flow into her. She could not think of a better partner, friend, or protector. Now she had to find a way to share some news with him she hadn’t expected. They would have to adjust their life together. With all they had been through, she knew they could do it, but there was still a moment of hesitancy. Would he be okay with the news?
“I think it’s a good thing,” Logan said before she could open her mouth to tell him.
She straightened up and stared at him. “What is? You know? When did you know?”
Logan thought for a moment. “Is this one of those times when I should have waited for you to tell me something?”
Rogue started laughing. “Yes!” she said as she hit him gently on the shoulder.
“Okay.” His eyes were full of mischief. “So what did you want to tell me as we sat out here in the moonlight with the roses blooming all around us.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Uh, huh. Well, I think it’s a good thing.” He pulled her back to him, back into the swing, and kissed her on the top of her head. “Do you?”
“Yes, as long as you admit you’re as nervous about being a father as I am about being a mother.”
His chuckle was a comforting sound. “Hell yes, but I’m game if you are.”
She relaxed against him and they swung a little in the silence that followed.
“And you’ll be a great mother.”
Rogue smiled and blushed. Funny how the little things mattered so much.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Story Notes:
This was in response to a recent prompt by a friend to write a romantic tale involving flowers in bloom. Turned out they were roses... and surprisingly involved one of my favorite couples I had not visited with in a long while. Don't expect more. This pretty much wraps everything up. Enjoy.